"Regarding the current charges," Emilio continued, "the evidence is circumstantial at best. The alleged victim is refusing to cooperate with the investigation. Three witnesses initially claimed they saw the incident, but all three have since recanted or substantially modified their statements. The physical evidence is consistent with self-defense."
Roberto's face reddened. "Your Honor, the witness recantations are clearly the result of intimidation—"
"Does the prosecution have evidence of intimidation?" Emilio asked mildly. "Or are we now requiring defendants to defend themselves against speculation in addition to actual charges?"
Judge Morrison's mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "Mr. Green, do you have evidence of witness tampering to present?"
"Not at this time, but—"
"Then let's focus on the matter at hand. Bail." She turned to Emilio. "Continue, counselor."
"Given Mr. Vitale's extensive ties to the community, his clean record, and the weakness of the prosecution's case, I would argue that bail is unnecessary. However, if the court feels it appropriate, we would request an amount commensurate with the actual risk of flight—which is nonexistent—rather than the prosecution's theatrical demands."
It was a calculated performance. Emilio knew he wouldn't get ROR—released on recognizance—for an assault case, no matter how weak. But by asking for it, he made any bail amount seem like a compromise rather than a victory for the prosecution.
Judge Morrison reviewed her notes. "Bail is set at two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Cash or bond. Next appearance in thirty days for pre-trial motions."
Roberto looked like he'd swallowed glass. He'd asked for five hundred thousand and gotten half. In his mind, he'd lost. The truth was more nuanced—Morrison would have set bail at two-fifty regardless of what either attorney argued—but perception mattered more than reality in these exchanges.
Emilio had won the psychological battle, and he knew it.
The judge dismissed us. Emilio gathered his files with the same precise movements as before, but now I could see the slight tremor in his hands. Adrenaline wearing off. The performance had cost him something.
I stood and buttoned my suit jacket. "Impressive, Mr. Rossi."
"Thank you." He didn't look at me, focused on sliding documents into his briefcase. "I'll need to meet with you to discuss trial strategy. Perhaps later this week?"
"Today, if you're available. This afternoon."
Now he looked up. Met my eyes for longer than two seconds this time. I saw him calculating. Weighing whether to push back or accept. He had other obligations, certainly. Other clients. But I was the two-hundred-thousand-dollar retainer. I was the case that could make his career.
"Where?" he asked.
"My office. Inferno." I pulled a card from my jacket pocket and offered it. "Two o'clock. Come alone—no associates, no junior partners. This conversation stays between us."
He took the card. Our fingers brushed. He pulled back like he'd been burned.
Interesting.
"I'll be there," he said.
"I know." I smiled, watching the way his pupils dilated slightly before he looked away. "Thank you for your excellent work this morning. I look forward to our continued collaboration."
He nodded and turned to leave. I watched him go, cataloging more details. The way he held tension in his shoulders. The precise cadence of his walk—measured, controlled, nothing wasted. The fact that he'd reacted to accidental contact like it had burned him.
Roberto approached as Emilio disappeared through the courtroom doors. "Vitale. Tell your people to stop intimidating my witnesses."
I looked at him with the flat expression I reserved for insects. "Mr. Green. Tell your witnesses to stop lying and perhaps they won't feel the need to recant."
"This isn't over."
"It was over before it started. You're wasting the taxpayers' money pursuing charges you can't prove against a man you can'ttouch. But please, continue. I enjoy watching you embarrass yourself."
He opened his mouth—probably to deliver some threat about how I wouldn't be so arrogant when I was in prison—but thought better of it. Smart. Some lines, once crossed, had consequences he wasn't prepared to face.
I left the courthouse through the main entrance, ignoring the reporters who shouted questions about the case. My driver, Thomas, waited with the car. I slid into the back seat and pulled out my phone.
"Well?" Matteo's voice was rough even over a cellular connection. "How'd the new lawyer do?"
